The Foxfaced Killer
by Wollywood
Summary: I don't suppose my family will mind much if I die. They believe the rumors, too - possibly even think that I'm a threat to them. In fact, I bet no one will weep at my funeral. Not after what I have supposedly done. - The story of Foxface and her reaping.


**It initially was not supposed to be like this at all...but I started writing and this is what happened. At the end of writing it I was like "No one is going to read this. this is really random. No one will bother to read this story". But please do. 'Cause I spent days writing it...**

* * *

><p><strong>The Foxfaced Killer<strong>

"Breena Lark." the name blares from the speakers and ripples through the town square. Then its like the crowd becomes a flock of jabberjays, echoing the announcement in hushed voices. I feel uncomfortable. They have all heard my name before. Not publicly announced like this, in-front of the Justice Building in District 5 - but whispered quietly from suspicious neighbors. Many of them probably think I deserve this. No one will weep at my funeral. Not after what I have supposedly done.

Brooke, my tall, condescending classmate, shoves me towards the podium, relieved to be rid of me. I shoot her a death glare and stumble forward. I am not shocked that my name has been called. The mayor might have even planned this. Requested for my name to be drawn. Seeing as though District 5 has never had a volunteer before (or a specific request to enter a "criminal" in the games), Lavender Ellsworth, our Hunger Games representative, fresh from the Capitol, probably had no problem abiding his wishes. Its no secret that she's had her eye on the mayor for the past four years. Then again, she has her eye on every attractive male, Capitol or District 5 born - the bright-haired, loud mouthed tramp.

Whether or not the reaping was rigged, however, doesn't really matter. Either way I am now a competitor in the Hunger Games.

I don't suppose my family will mind much if I die. They believe the rumors, too. Possibly even think that I'm a threat to them. They've never really trusted me. At least my history will give me an edge in the games. If the other tributes are familiar with "the crimes I've committed" they may steer clear of me. Or try to take me out first. I find myself indifferent to the matter. I gave up on preserving my life the night they pronounced me guilty of a crime I didn't commit. Not that they have any proof. Which is probably the only thing keeping them from hanging me right here, right now for the whole district to see. But its almost worse being alive. Its unbearable to walk home from school every day with countless pairs of eyes set on me. Watching my every move, as if expecting me to lash out at any moment. It takes an enormous amount of self control and restraint not to. _I am not a killer._ I_ did not murder Jaysin Malgrove._ Sure, I can see how I would be a suspect - I have plenty of motive. And its not like I am the squeamish, shy type. The accusation is perfectly plausible. Except for the fact that it isn't true.

However, I stopped bothering to defend myself when I saw the look in my older brother, Thorn's eyes after he heard the news. I thought that surely, he would come to my defense when Brooke appeared on our doorstep, her face red with anger and her eyes overflowing with tears, screeching into the black night. Making my offense known to the entire town.

_"SHE KILLED MY BROTHER! YOUR WITCH OF A SISTER KILLED MY BROTHER!" _she had weeped. I waited for Thorn to stand up for me. To tell her that I would never do anything of the sort. But instead he just stared into the distance, a vacant look in his eyes. I remember running to the front door and slamming it shut, putting a barrier between my accuser and my protective, dependable brother. I recall gazing up at him, pleadingly, searching his face for an explanation as to why he didn't bother defending me. But instead he had merely looked down, his eyes flooded with disappointed, and said in whisper _"Why did you do it?"._

He didn't even ask me _if _I had killed Jaysin Malgrove. He asked me WHY I did it. Immediately presuming my guilt. He shook his head and sauntered off to his room, slamming the door. Jaysin had been his friend. I wouldn't have killed a friend of my brother's. Or anyone at all, for that matter.

Yes, Jaysin and I fought alot. We were never friends. He was the kind of person who would randomly shove me against a locker in school. He was the kind of person who I would go out of my way to spread vicious, yet convincing, rumors about. Once, I saved a bit of the milk I was served at supper every night for two weeks in a row in order to have enough to fill a bucket. I then left the bucket of milk out in the sun to rotten and boil. The stench was unbearable and the sight was nauseating. I then proceeded to take the bucket to school with me the next day for the sole purpose of dumping the warm liquid onto Jaysin's head. I attacked directly after gym class, the moment he stepped out of the Boy's Locker room. He smelled like sour milk for weeks.

Our hatred for each other started when I was 7 and he was 9. We were friends then. It was a hot July afternoon and we were spending the day in the park, chasing rabbits and picking flowers as carefree children do. We were playing "the Princess and the Knight". He had just come to my rescue, saving me from an evil three-headed dragon, when he said it. Those three words that turned our friendship around. Three words that made us go from childhood playmates to cutthroat enemies.

_"Hey, Breena. Do you know what?"_ He had asked, grabbing hold of both of my hands. Realizing we were no longer playing the game, I drew my head back, feeling awkward having his face so close to mine. I was seven. Boys had cooties. Even if they were my friends.  
>"What?" I questioned, cringing slightly as he took a step closer.<br>"I love you," he said, simply, with all of the innocence of a 9 year-old boy.

My face had twisted in horror at his proclamation. I remember feeling confused and disgusted at the same time. So I did the most logical thing that came to mind. I shoved him to the ground and ran away as fast as I could. I sprinted to the nearest tree and started to climb, and when I got to the top (or as high as I dared to go) I started to sob. I don't know why his declaration had startled me so much. But it did. And I didn't like the way it made me feel. He tried to convince me to come down from my perch, but I stubbornly refused. I spent the next two hours in that tree, ignoring my mother's demands for me to "_get down here RIGHT this instant"_. I knew she was too big to climb the tree herself. I was safe up there. I recall counting the clouds to calm myself, drowning out the cries of Jaysin and my mother. Finally, after Jaysin reluctantly gave up and went home, I climbed down and met my mother's furious glare.

All I wanted to do was throw myself into her arms and tell her what had happened. But I was not that she would have understood my distress over the matter. At the age of seven, saying "I love you" or "You are now my girlfriend" on the playground was a common, harmless occurrence that usually meant next to nothing. But for some reason, this was different. I took it personally, almost like it was an insult.

The next day he approached me on the playground and asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. As if my knocking him to the ground and climbing a tree to avoid him wasn't a clear enough message. Well its not hard to guess how this played out. I stared at him for a moment, studying the earnest look in his eyes and weighing my options. Seeing how well it worked for me the first time, I decided to stick to what I did best. I pushed him as hard as I could and ran. Surely, he would now understand that I was not interested in his offer.

But he was a persistent little boy.

The next day he came _INTO MY CLASSROOM_ and cornered me while my classmates rushed to door for recess. Then he did something unthinkable. He tried to kiss me. At least, I think that's what he was trying to do. I didn't actually let him go through with it. He closed his eyes and puckered his lips, slowly leaning towards my face. He looked quite ridiculous, and there was a part of me that wanted to laugh. But my horror overcame this desire. My eyes wide with terror, I slapped him across the face, to keep him from inching any closer. Finally, I think he understood. His feelings of "love" for me were NOT mutual.

What's worse, the whole class had witnessed his rejection. When they saw what he was attempting to do, they froze at the door, figuring that the playground could wait just a few more minutes. Being a good, attentive audience, they responded loudly and enthusiastically when I hit him. Some laughed. A few gasped with astonishment. One ran to Jaysin's side, asking if he was hurt. I just stood there, silently, letting the reality of what I just did sink in. My best friend had tried to kiss me. I had slapped him. It was a moment I would never forget.

He never forgot it, either.

Humiliated, he spat at my feet (possibly thinking that that was the cool thing to do?) and then ran out of the class room. A gaggle of giggling girls followed him, asking him countless questions. To all of which, the answers seemed pretty obvious. "Did you just try to kiss Breena?", "Do you like her?", "Did she just slap you?", "Did it hurt?", "Are you going to try again?". It was that last question that caught my attention. I hoped that he wouldn't try something ridiculously stupid like that again. I will never forget the cold, hard look in his eyes as he replied "Never."

And he followed through on that. He never did. In fact, he dedicated the next few days to making my life miserable. He told people that I still wet the bed (which was a horrifying thing for my whole class to know at that age...it was also a lie...). He pulled my hair when passing me in the halls. He stuck his tongue out at me and knocked my books out of my hands. He never forgave me for the kiss that never happened. And I never forgave him.

It got worse as we grew older. We went out of our way to hurt each other. It seemed petty and childish to still be upset over that incident that occurred so long ago, but both of us knew how to hold a grudge. And our list of reasons for loathing each other got longer every day. Every attempt to get back at each other was fuel to the burning fire of rage.

As time went on, we got more creative in our attempts to harm each other. Being friends with my older brother gave him access to my house. Access to my room when I wasn't home. Access to my diary (which wasn't very well hidden at the time). Access to all of my secrets.

I remember being fourteen and losing all of my friends in one day. Jaysin had stolen my diary and brought it to school to read aloud during lunch, when all of the grades congregated in one big room. He stood up on a table and started pouring out secret after secret. I remember running over to him, screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to claw the book out of his hands. But he just raised it high above his head, dangling it above me. I looked like a child, jumping up, reaching for the little leather book. He smirked as he continued to reveal my most embarrassing secrets and horribly rude thoughts to the entire school. I went home crying. He went home feeling accomplished. Like ruining my life was a huge victory to him. It undoubtedly was.

And then, a year later, we had the huge fight.

It was a month ago, when it happened. He had stopped by to hang out with Thorn. But Thorn wasn't home. Neither was my mother. So when he came through the side door without knocking, as he always does (or...did), he found me alone, in the kitchen, cooking dinner...alone...

He stared at me for a moment, not saying anything. Not looking particularly spiteful either. So I, in turn, stared back. I noticed things I never noticed before. I noticed that he was muscular and not much taller than I. I noticed that his brown hair had a few blond highlights in it that complimented his eyes... his eyes, which were an astonishing shade of green. How had I never noticed those eyes before? He actually looked rather handsome. Or, at least...he would, if I didn't hate him with a burning passion.

"Hi," I said flatly.  
>"Funny how how you can say 'hi' like someone would say 'I will kill you in your sleep and then skin the meat off of your bones and sell it for a penny a pound because no one would buy something that came from someone so worthless for any higher price'," he remarked.<br>"Funny how you can read so much into a one-worded greeting," I rolled my eyes, not in the mood for a fight.  
>"Oh, come on, we both know you were thinking it," he muttered, with an unfamiliar hint of bleakness in his voice. I didn't respond. I just continued to prepare the stew. "What are you making?" he asked, after a long silence.<br>"Stew," I replied. It seemed rather apparent.  
>"What kind of stew?"<br>"Rabbit,"  
>"Where did you get the money for that?"<br>"Rabbits aren't that expensive. We're not poor,"  
>"I didn't say you were,"<br>"You're implying it. Because you think your family is better than mine, and you always have" I snarled.  
>"Who's reading into things too much, now?" he snapped back. I remember having a brilliant comeback...but I didn't say it. Instead I returned to giving him the silent treatment. He deserved nothing more. I expected him to leave, but instead he just sat there, watching me. It was unnerving, but I still refused to speak to him. Even to tell him to leave. Hopefully he would just take the hint and go. But past experiences had proven that Jaysin never knew how to take a hint.<p>

"Sorry," he said.

Now, _that_ took me by surprise. I hadn't expected an apology. I wasn't sure how to respond to an _apology_. I certainly couldn't forgive him. Even if his remark about me being poor was harmless. And factual. So I decided to blow him off.

"No you're not," I sighed, too tired to muster up any aggression. Then Jaysin surprised me again. He walked towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. That was uncharted territory. I looked down at his hand and then back up at his face. He was now staring at me so intently that I couldn't move. I wanted to shove his hand away and tell him that he was no longer was welcome here. But I couldn't.  
>"Yes," he whispered. "I am. For everything,"<p>

I resisted the urge to punch him. Sorry? For everything? What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"W-what?" I stuttered, still unable to move.  
>"I'm sorry for holding that grudge against you all this time. For hurting you over and over again. When in reality...I don't hate you at all," he admitted. The spontaneity of it all was almost comical. Except it wasn't.<p>

At that point, I was fully convinced that I was dreaming. It was not real. I would pinch myself to prove that this _was_, in fact, a dream, but I still couldn't get my body and brain to cooperate. So I just stood there. Like an idiot. Probably leading him on. Even though it didn't matter, considering it was all just some weird, demented dream.

"Wh-what?" I somehow found myself saying again.  
>"Remember what I told you when I was nine?" he asked. Oh no. I could see he was nervous. Trying to get up the courage to say it. I knew what was coming. This was a very, very bad dream.<br>"N-no...wh-what did you say?" I obviously wasn't in control of my speech, either. For that would NOT be my ideal choice of words.  
>"I told you that," Oh no. Oh no. "Well, Breena," Oh gosh no. Please no. "I love you."<p>

Of course.

"No. No you don't," I protested, unable to find any more words. Why couldn't I just wake up already? But no, instead the dream got worse.

He kissed me. And I didn't have enough control over my body to push him away. In fact, I kissed him back. I didn't want to. In fact, I REALLY didn't want to. But I did. And I realized that no...I was not dreaming.

Finally, I came to my senses and was able to pull away. I resisted the urge to wipe my mouth, and instead I resorted to what always seemed like the best response in this sort of situation.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Jaysin shouted, putting his had to jaw where I had punched him. It was already swelling. I had hit him hard.  
>"Why did you do that?" I demanded.<br>"Why did I do what? Your the one who just punched me!"  
>"You kissed me!"<br>"YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE!"  
>"BECAUSE YOU KISSED ME!"<br>"Yeah, your right. I'm a horrible person. The only flaw in your logic is that YOU KISSED ME BACK!...AND THEN PUNCHED ME"  
>"I was...I was..."<br>"Don't give me that 'lost in the moment', shit!"  
>"Don't worry, that was NOT what I was going to say,"<br>"I was trying to apologize and end all of our fighting and you respond by PUNCHING me?"  
>"Is THAT what you were trying to do?"<br>"Yeah, it kinda was!"  
>"Well going from ruining my life to trying to kiss me is a bit of a longshot, don't you think?"<br>"I...I..."  
>"You what? You certainly DID NOT have the right to do that! Nor did you have the right to say that you loved me! You DON'T love me! So don't even try that again!"<br>"But I-"  
>"When you love someone, you don't spend years of your life tormenting them!"<br>"Hate and love kinda blur together when it comes to you, I must admit,"  
>"You say that like...like...like its okay! ITS NOT OKAY!"<br>"And why is it not okay, Breena, tell me that!" he shouted.  
>"Because hate and love do not go together! If you loved me then you would care about me, don't you think?"<br>"I do care about you!"  
>"Pshhh yeah, that's what you spend all your time coming up with new, creative ways to make me feel like crap!"<br>"Yeah, your right. That's all I spend my time doing. Do you seriously think that?"  
>"Uhhh YEAH,"<br>"Well excuse me if I was just going to let you beat the crap out of me infront of the whole school, time after time, without fighting back!"  
>"How are you making ME sound like the bad guy?"<br>"Because you kind of are,"  
>"Wow. Real chivalrous of you,"<br>"What do you expect me to say, Breena? You've turned me down repeatedly,"  
>"Because...because..."<br>"Why? Why do you do that? We used to be friends,"  
>"I was seven. I didn't want to hear that my best friend loved me! Not that you actually did. You were too young. But still!"<br>"Yeah, but you didn't have to hate me for it! And guess what?"  
>"No. I don't want to guess. Because your going to tell me anyways and I'm not going to like the answer,"<br>"Fine, then I won't tell you. I'll just leave,"  
>"Fine,"<br>"Fine,"  
>"FINE!"<br>"UGH, YOUR SO DIFFICULT!" he complained. He didn't leave, though. He said he was going to leave. Bummer. "Why does this _really_ bother you so much, Breena?"  
>"Because,"<br>"That's not an answer, not matter how much you like to think it is,"  
>"Because...because-"<br>"JUST SAY IT! I think I can handle whatever it is. Not that you've ever had a problem with hurting people's feelings,"  
>"Because I love you, too, OK?" I screamed. Taken aback by my own words, I tensed up, mortified. "I mean...I...I don't...I don't-"<br>"You what?" Jaysin had stopped yelling.  
>"It doesn't matter. I don't like you," I spat through gritted teeth.<br>"Oh, of course not. You just love me,"  
>"I don't!"<br>"YOU JUST SAID YOU DID!"  
>"I don't know, okay! A second ago I was thinking about killing you in your sleep,"<br>"I knew that's what you were thinking when you said hello," he smirked. How could he be smirking? We were fighting, he was supposed to be mad. Very, very mad. Like me. Was I mad? I wished I had told him to leave back when I had the chance.  
>"Trust me, I don't love you. I have no idea why I just said that. I'm tired and I'm making dinner and I don't have time for this. Let's just forget it ever happened okay?"<br>"You can't keep avoiding this,"  
>"I'm not avoiding anything,"<br>"You can't live your whole life denying what we both know is true. Why are you so afraid to love me back?" he looked like he was going to tear his hair out. Frustrated, and tired of him trying to convince me of something that wasn't true, I picked up a plate and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it smashed against the wall. Just as it shattered, I found myself shouting "Jaysin Malgrove, you are DEAD to me,". Right as my mother, walked through the door. Perfect.

She then proceeded to yell at me, order Jaysin out of the house, and send me to bed without supper. Like I was a seven again. Over the next few days, rumors spread like wildfire that I had threatened to kill Jaysin. Of course, when I said he was "dead" to me, I didn't literally mean that I was planning to kill him. But all the neighbors had undoubtedly heard the yelling, the crash of the plate hitting the wall and the word DEAD screeched at the top of my lungs. It was enough.

The rumors didn't bother me too much. They were just rumors. They didn't mean anything. Well...they didn't, until one, bleak December evening.

It started out just like any other day. I went to school, then went to the park and climbed my tree (yes, the same one I scurried up when I was seven), not really wanting to go home. And when I did eventually make my way back to my house, dinner was on the table, waiting for me. My mom was perturbed that I was late, but I knew she would get over it. I ate, I did my homework, and then I got ready to go to bed. It was late and I had had enough of my sickeningly normal day. And that's when Brooke Malgrove showed up at our front door, screaming her head off. Trembling with rage, pointing an accusing finger, in my direction. That's when I slammed the door in her face. That's when my brother believed every word she said. That's when I was given the title "murderer".

Everyone believed that I killed him. They didn't know what had really taken place in my kitchen the night the two of us fought. They didn't know that he loved me. They didn't know that there was a part of me that loved him. All they knew is that publicly, we hated each other. All they knew is that I had told him that he was dead to me. All they knew is that only a week after our fight, he was found dead, lying in a pool of blood, in his bedroom. A knife in his back.

But I didn't do it. I could _never_ do that. To anyone. Especially someone I knew. Especially not Jaysin. Yes, I may half hate him...half love him...hate him for loving him...but I would never _ever_ imagine...

Heartbroken and sickened with shock, I proceeded to go through the next few days denying that I killed Jaysin Malgrove. I argued with countless people, convincing no one of my innocence. To my disbelief, even my mother had her doubts.

But worst of all was having my older brother, my favorite person in the world, turn on me. Maybe he was so drunk with grief that he couldn't think straight. Or maybe he really did think that I would kill his best friend. My mortal enemy since childhood.

Eventually, I stopped trying to convince people that it was not I who killed Jaysin. Their argument was stronger than mine. My alibi for where I was when the murder occurred was weak. No one had seen me at the park, or in my tree. I could easily be lying about my whereabouts. But no one could deny that I had more motive to kill Jaysin Malgrove than anyone else in District 5.

I've spent night after night lying awake, wondering who _really_ committed the crime. Then, finding I'm unable to think of any possible suspects, I almost believe the rumors myself. That _I_ killed Jaysin. There is no one else who would have even the slightest reason to commit the crime. My case was hopeless.

And now, I find myself about to participate in the most deadly games of all time. The Hunger Games. I will either have to kill 23 innocent strangers, or die. Considering my current situation, I guess I'll die.

I don't want to kill anyone anyways. Maybe if I refuse to kill anyone on national television (even if its to save my own life) it will prove to my district that I couldn't have kill Jaysin Malgrove. Then they'd be sorry.

I walk through the crowd in town square silently and solemnly. But I don't cry. I don't even wince. I will not give anyone the honor of seeing me vulnerable. So I hold my head high and try to look impassive.

As I am walking, I accidentally brush against a little girl in the crowd, who couldn't be more than seven. My age when Jaysin proposed his love for me. The first time he proposed his love for me, at least. I apologize to the girl and am about to step onto the podium and face the crowd when she stops me and pulls me closer to her. Putting her mouth to my ear, she whispers "I don't believe you did what they say you did,". I look down at her little, pudgy face, astonished.

"Wh-what?" I stammer.  
>"I don't believe you killed him," she says, before turning around and disappearing into the crowd. Such a young child shouldn't even know about those type of things. She should still be lighthearted, without a care in the world. But instead she knows all about me. And she doesn't believe its true.<p>

Suddenly, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. Its just one person. But its enough. Someone believes in me.

So I decide, I am _not_ about to sign my death sentence. I will not give these people the pleasure of watching me die. I will fight for my life. And I will do so without killing anyone. A plan starts formulating in my mind as I take my place on the podium next to Lavender Ellsworth. I will outsmart the other tributes. I'm clever, quick, and I've been coming up with schemes to make people (moreover, Jaysin) miserable for years. I can easily trick the others into killing each other, and then lure my final opponent in a trap. I'm not sure exactly what I'll do or how I'll do it, yet. But I will be the underdog of this year's Hunger Games. I'll be the girl that no one expects will win. And I'll still be able to prove that I would never technically _murder_ someone - even if the price is my life. And then I'll return to District 5, alive and victorious, ready to fix my broken life.

_I am Breena Lark. I am in the Hunger Games. And I am going to win._


End file.
